'I fancy I hear 'em coming now, sir. Maybe it's an extra spread.'
But the native brought only the food to which they were accustomed, and of which they were heartily tired. It was dark by the time they had finished their meal. They had no light, but they squatted on their mats, chatting quietly until sleepiness should steal upon them. The sounds from beyond the stockade died down as usual; it seemed, indeed, that stillness had fallen upon the village earlier than on any previous night. Grinson was the first to close his eyes; the other two were still talking in low tones when a sudden commotion from the direction of the gate caused them to spring up and rush to the doorway, where Grinson immediately joined them. They could see nothing in the darkness, but the cries of the two men who always stood on guard were drowned by a chorus of savage yells. Men were heard rushing across the enclosure; then came the whistling of spears and sharp cracks of clubs falling on solid skulls.
'The beggars outside are attacking the stockade,' said Trentham.
''Tis rank mutiny and rebellion,' growled Grinson. 'Shall we lend a hand, sir?'
Hoole had whipped out his revolver.
'Hold hard,' said Trentham; 'we may want that for a later occasion. I think we had better let them fight it out. For one thing, we 're not used to their weapons; then, if we take sides, we 're hopelessly done with the Papuans, and shouldn't dare to show our faces among them.'
'But we 'll have to fight for our lives if they break in,' said Hoole. 'We might get away now.'
'I don't think they 'll break in. The stockade 's very stout. Don't you think we might turn the crisis to account?'
'How do you mean?'
'Let us wait a little and see how the fight goes. Whichever side wins, I think we may have a trump card.'